


In Hot Water

by Bugggghead



Series: Bughead Drabbles & One Shots [18]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, College AU, F/M, Future AU, Mutual Pining, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing, betty pines, childhood best friends, grad school in california, hoops my oneshot is now 7.5k words, hope you guys don't mind, jug moves away before senior year, jughead pines, oh my god they were roommates, pivotal moment, playing with water, they both wind up soaking wet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 07:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/Bugggghead
Summary: You know it’s all fun and games until you end up soaking wet and accidentally straddling your best friend in the bathtub.OrJughead moved away before senior year. Him and Betty reconnect and share an apartment for grad school in California. OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES. Future AU.***WINNER: BEST FRIENDS/ENEMIES TO LOVERS FIC, 4TH BUGHEAD FANFICTION AWARDS***





	In Hot Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a92vm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a92vm/gifts).



> This one shot was inspired by a multitude of people. First and foremost @a92vm sent me this clip and my mind started racing. Thank you Alex for being my beta and my inspiration for this. She’s also responsible for the adorable summary. @tory-b is the genius who came up with the title and you guys can thank @paperlesscrown and her endless encouragement for this getting so out of hand. While I was forming the idea, both @mysingularityuniverse’s prompt and @fictiousoshine’s prompt popped into my head too and I just decided to include them all! (I totally broke the rules of this drabble prompt challenge but I hope none of you mind & thanks so much for sending in the asks from this list)  
> 49\. Why are we whispering?  
> 23\. Just leave me alone.

*

  
  


California was a strange state. Unlike New York, situated neatly at the top corner of the opposite coast, California was vast, housing many different subregions that had terrains and sights like nowhere else in the world. Betty had only been there for a few weeks, following her admission to Berkeley’s prestigious journalism Master’s degree program. She was just barely entering the new adventure in her life and she would have to say, if anyone asked, it had been going better than she had ever expected. Who knew a little time at the beach could improve even the worst mood?

 

Living in New York had never afforded her the freedom to just trot down to the coast whenever she felt like it. There was just something about the mixture of salt, sand, and sea that cleared her mind like nothing else. Which is why, late on a Tuesday afternoon, after an early class, she found herself with her toes sunk into the granules of sand on a small beach on the west coast, reveling in the sight of the waves lapping at the shore. 

 

She wasn’t avoiding her apartment, no. Not at all. That would be silly. 

 

Wouldn’t it? 

 

She  _ might _ have been avoiding her roommate, just a bit if she was being honest, but not the entire apartment. She knew for a fact that he had a late class that day and she was simply biding her time, letting the crash of the ocean’s waves wipe the trepidations from her mind before returning to the apartment once it was safely empty.  

 

She liked Jughead. She had always liked Jughead. That was the problem. She  _ really  _ liked Jughead. 

 

Over the last few weeks, since finding the apartment, and mutually deciding that sharing the finances was the wiser choice for both of them to attend the school across the country from their hometown, something had begun to shift. 

 

Her undergrad years were spent at Boston College. His were spent at Berkeley. Save for a few holidays here and there, when he would go back to Riverdale to spend it with the Andrews only footsteps away from her own holiday residence, they hadn’t seen each other for any length of time in ages. 

 

Late in their junior year of high school, when they had been closest, Betty had it all planned out. She had worked up nerve to finally tell him how she felt. All of the gentle touches, lingering hugs, and nights spent in such close proximity that she frequently had to step away to clear her head and shake the thoughts from her mind, had lead to a precipice. A singular moment that she planned to a tee, the moment she was finally going to tell him how she felt. 

 

She nearly  _ knew _ that he felt the same. He had been present during each exchange, the tension so palpable it had a physical presence time and time again. She knew he must have felt  _ something _ in those instances, some hint of affection, but fleeting ‘what ifs’ were always swallowed within seconds, her own self doubt consuming every tendril of hope.

 

She was inexperienced at the time, she knew that, but so was he. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how she felt, because she did. Oh, she did. But if he didn’t feel the same, things would inevitably change. She told herself, at the time, that even if he  _ did  _ feel the same, things would still change. That constant worry that gnawed at her kept pushing the date back.

 

At the beginning of the summer, just after their junior year, Betty was finally ready; but before she had her moment, or even a proper chance at it, she received a text from Jughead. It simply read ‘on my way’. It didn’t seem that odd at the time, they had been spending a lot of time together, but in hindsight she knew the urgency in which he flew down the streets on the way to her home meant something was about to change.

 

She met him at the door, her typically bright smile dimming as soon as she saw him. He looked distraught, worried, weighted down. Something was on his mind, that much was clear, but it wasn’t until the words ‘moving’ and ‘Toledo’ registered that she truly understood exactly what was wrong. His father was off on another bender, on the verge of violating his probation when Gladys Jones swooped in, returning to Riverdale to finalize her divorce and whisk him away with her. FP had been the one to suggest it, and since he was still a minor, Jughead’s vehement protests held no legal weight. 

 

She could still feel the warm trails of tears slinking down her cheeks when he said goodbye, nearly stunned silent by the painful revelation. She remembers leaning forward to place a soft kiss against the edge of his mouth; and in that instant, she felt as if she was losing more than just her best friend, more than her investigative partner, she felt as if she was losing her hope. 

 

Communications had been frequent at first, but with each passing month, their once practiced ease became a bit more mechanical. He’d text her often and ask how she was, but when she took longer to reply, mulling over every word for hours, and he stopped reaching out as frequently, what once could have been, turned into nothing more than a longing regret. It became more and more painful to send a text without getting a reply for days on end, and she couldn’t bare it any longer. He distanced himself and never had social media, so as high school came to a close and college began, she filed his memory under ‘what might have been’ and tried to move on. She dated off and on during college, even indulged in a particularly crazy feat and had a one night stand- once, naturally at Veronica’s behest. But no one could ever quite fill the Jughead shaped hole he had left in her heart. One that despite her best efforts, still ached from time to time when she allowed herself to remember.

 

A few years passed before she saw him again. It was Christmas break their sophomore year of college and they found themselves in Riverdale at the same time, schedules overlapping by mere days. He looked better than ever. The bags under his eyes were still prominent, but the weight his shoulders carried throughout high school seemed to be a little lighter. With each visit and casual ‘hello’, the occasional shake at Pop’s to catch up with everyone, their dynamic thawed, going from the icy aversion to a subtle warmth. He always asked how she was doing in school, gave her a hard time for the workload she insisted on keeping, and updated her on the progress of his still unfinished novel. 

 

During her final year of undergrad, on a whim, she applied to Berkeley. It had a fantastic Master’s program and her urge to branch out, to move on and move up, was simply too strong. She wanted to experience life, to travel and discover different parts of the world. She wanted adventure and as she clicked the submit button on her application, she couldn’t help the way her heart gently fluttered, just a little bit, as though it had been stagnant for far too long. Even if she didn’t get in, she had tried to do something different for the first time in a long time. So when the acceptance letter came, she quite literally jumped up and down, bouncing on her bed like a child, ready for whatever the next chapter of her life would hold.

 

Archie still talked to Jughead regularly and mentioned that he would pass her number along. When she found out that he planned on attending Berkeley for his Master’s too, she let the excitement peek through, only for a moment, at least around Archie. The prospect of being in the same city as him, of having a familiar face to vent to on the hard days and someone to celebrate with on the best, gave her something to look forward to. 

 

They had both grown. Silly childhood affections were sure to have fallen by the wayside, despite the way her body involuntarily responded to the mere mention of his name. She told herself it was from excitement, that she just couldn’t wait to reconnect with an old friend. Before her silly crush, they had been the best of friends and she yearned for the same kind of support again. While Veronica was amazing, the best friend a girl could ever hope for, there was never even a conscious thought of someone replacing Jughead’s presence in her life. What Betty truly needed was a friend, an ally, someone who knew the city better than her and was willing to guide her; at least that’s what she told everyone else. 

 

In a surprising move, he texted her one day and their conversations never stopped. Every few days at first, then it quickly became a daily thing. A quick ‘hello’ in the morning or a ‘sweet dreams’ at night. When he suggested they look at an apartment, citing the sky high prices of real estate, she couldn’t agree fast enough. It was as if their old dynamic had come back full force and she anxiously counted down the days until she moved there.

 

The first few weeks had been relatively uneventful. They fell back into their easy camaraderie from childhood, laughing and joking about everything under the sun. The days stretched into nights filled with documentaries, homemade treats, and the occasional shared blanket on the couch. On rare occasions, after a long day of classes, Betty would doze off on the couch and wake up the next morning in her bed, tenderly tucked beneath the sheets. 

 

But that dynamic had shifted considerably the past few days, following a rather uncomfortable exchange in the bathroom, she had been avoiding him like the plague. She hadn’t known he was home at the time, slipping in quickly to run to the restroom between classes. He was  _ supposed _ to be in a class- but he wasn't. Instead, when she flung the bathroom door open, legs crossed and an impatient bounce in her step, she froze. 

 

There stood Jughead, bare as could be, stepping into their shared shower before turning to face her, every inch of his olive toned skin on full display. 

 

In all of her fantasies, all the late nights in high school that she had stayed up dreaming about what he must have looked like under those heavy layers, she had never imagined the sight before her. He cleared his throat and her eyes shot up to his. He had been watching her and she was positively mortified. Her breath caught in her throat as her cheeks burned. She didn’t say a word, simply flipped around and ran to her room as fast as she could, shutting the door behind her before a heavy exhale finally escaped. So, that’s what he looked like. Noted.

 

It was nearly four pm when she decided to finally head back to the apartment after her escape by the ocean. It was a decent drive and with traffic she figured he would be gone by the time she arrived. Sure enough, when she pulled back the apartment door and slipped in, tiptoeing toward her door, she heard absolutely nothing. She inched farther down the hallway and peeked into his room as soon as she could, breathing a sigh of relief. He was, in fact, gone. His sheets were still ruffled, his bed unmade, but that was typical. No tell tale click of his fingers against keys could be heard and with the bathroom both open and empty, she knew her plan had worked. About an hour had passed as Betty sat comfortably on the couch in their living room. He was never home before eight on Tuesdays so she relished in the solitude. 

 

Their apartment was basic, sparsely furnished with a singular couch, a recliner, and a coffee table. Their one large wall housed an abnormally large TV that Jughead had apparently acquired during a particularly long period immersed in his PlayStation. Most of their furniture had been his, brought over from the studio he lived in during his undergrad and it barely filled up a fraction of the new, two bedroom apartment. Despite their weeks of residence, only two areas of the entire space truly felt lived in: Betty’s room, which she had painstakingly set up to minimize the bouts of homesickness she was overcome with from time to time and the kitchen, the area that was arguably used more often than any other room. With Jughead’s appetite and Betty’s propensity to stress bake for an army, the kitchen was truly the heart of their home - er, apartment. The heart of their apartment.

 

She had just filled a pot with water, making her way over to the fridge, when the distinct sound of a key turning the lock on the door made her freeze. He was home far too early. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could either run and hide in her room, prolonging the inevitable run in for a time she felt more fit to deal with the tension, or she could stay there and start cooking, acting as if nothing was wrong and she wasn’t entirely distracted; pretending that she didn’t imagine the way her roommate and former best friend looked underneath his clothes. Before she could even make up her mind, the door opened and Jughead walked through it, dropping his bag by the door and toeing off his boots. 

 

-

 

Jughead had an uncharacteristic pep in his step as he walked through the door. His class had been canceled, a singular word scrawled across a sheet of notebook paper, hanging on the door to the lecture hall. He wasn’t one to complain about cancelled classes. If grad school had taught him anything so far, and it was very possible that it hadn’t taught him much being only two weeks in, it was that a lot of his degree would involve hours of both self discipline and self study. Neither one of those had ever been an issue; other forms of disciple, maybe, but self discipline, especially when it came to academics, had always come naturally to him. 

 

High school was an odd time for Jughead, separated, in his mind, into two very distinct periods. Years spent with Betty Cooper and the year without her. Jughead couldn’t even remember when his crush first started, figuring it had probably always been there, a simple fact of life, something that just was: the sky was blue, water was wet, and he was enamored with the same girl who pined after his best friend. Growing up, all of his best memories had involved her and Archie. The three of them were beyond inseparable and their treehouse, the same one that still hung in the Andrews’ backyard, held more childhood memories than almost anywhere else. He started to notice the small things first: the way she hugged Archie just a little tighter when they were five and he fell on the playground, the tiny little notes, hidden away in her pink notebooks, hearts and names drawn with careful precision during class. 

 

Jughead learned at very young age that Betty Cooper was probably not the girl for him, even if she just so happened to be his dream girl. Years of watching her around Archie had softened the blow of his unrequited affections. By fifteen he thought he was finally making progress, noticing just once, for the first time ever on any girl that wasn’t Betty, the alluring slope of a pale neck in an old black and white Hitchcock film. While he was well aware that a Hitchcock blonde wasn’t a far cry from Betty Cooper herself, it was still a small victory in the ongoing war within his heart. 

 

Childhood crushes manifested themselves as teasing jabs and jokes on the playground, but at seventeen, his infatuation with her manifested itself in his dreams. Many nights he laid awake, recalling the new curves forming on her body, many of those same nights he turned on a little music, hoping to drown out the sounds he made imagining her there with him, embedded in her scent. He’d spill in his hand with a memory of her smell so vivid he could almost taste it, and more often than not, that led to him dreaming again about what she might taste like.

 

The day he left Riverdale, he could have sworn he heard his heart crack right on her front porch as they said ‘goodbye’. They stayed in contact for a while, her image never fading from his memory, but the texts became too painful. Combined with the tumultuous homelife he found himself in, what once was solace slowly became torture. Knowing he wouldn’t see her again, knowing he was mere hours away and knowing that what once might have been was now something that could never be, haunted him late at night. Despite his best attempts, his teenage tendencies reared their ugly head time and again as he pictured what she must look like, who she might have grown into, his secret shared only between himself and his sheets.

 

His first year of college was uneventful, he didn’t return home for any breaks and instead he holed himself up in his apartment neck deep in Skyrim. The following year he’d returned to Riverdale, finally accepting Archie’s invitation for an Andrews style Christmas only days before he needed to leave. 

 

The first time he saw her at Pop’s, lips wrapped around a cherry red straw, sipping on a milkshake, he’d known the freeze out had all been for naught. She was never far from his mind and being in her presence again, catching the faintest hint of her sweet scent, sent his hormones into a tailspin. Jughead Jones was quickly reduced to a prepubescent, lovesick teenager all over again just by a hint of vanilla laced with something he could never quite pin down. He thought maybe it was her natural essence.

 

Being around her was unbearable during the holidays, boundaries up and small talk aplenty. Once he returned to school, her memory followed him, but he could breathe easier knowing that the fresh image in his mind would comfort him during particularly lonely nights. 

 

A few months prior, with a simple call from Archie, all of that had changed. Betty was coming to Berkeley, studying at the same grad school for her Master’s and when Archie offered him her number, he just knew he had to take it. The texts flowed seamlessly, exciting him even more with each passing day until she landed, loaded down with suitcases, looking as flawless as ever at the airport. He had picked her up that day and driven her to the apartment they had agreed upon a few weeks before. The first time she walked through the door he was nervous. He didn’t know what she’d think of the space, the small rooms, the shared bathroom, and his belongings piled in boxes in the corner. Not much had been unpacked but when she plopped down on the couch, sagging against the soft material and said she loved it, he couldn’t stop the deafening sound of his pulse in his eardrums as his heart rate raced. 

 

Everything had been going smoothly. But the sight of her tousled locks in the morning as she wrinkled her nose with each yawn, the picture of her perfectly smoothed ponytail before she left for class, and the image of her short shorts riding up on her thighs as she adjusted herself on the couch late at night while they watched a movie, were nearly too much. All too often he found himself thinking about the way her pillowy lips must feel, how soft her skin would be, what flavor her gloss might taste like. Everything about her invaded his senses, it was as if he was steeped in her presence every minute she was around and it was positively intoxicating. 

 

When he heard the door swing open that fateful morning as he stepped in the shower, he turned around, and by the way her eyes caressed his frame, down and then up, he knew he hadn’t been going crazy. She had felt it too. For how long, he didn’t know, but the present was all that really mattered and in that exact moment, he cleared his throat and saw a deep blush seep onto her cheeks. He hadn’t seen her since, but he wanted to. She was obviously avoiding him but it had only been a few days. He reasoned she’d have to come home at some point and he’d all but resolved to push the boundaries a bit past friendly when he saw the shock in her eyes as she stood in the kitchen. She looked apprehensive, like a deer in headlights and his prior surety deflated.

-

 

“Oh. Uh, hey!” He sounded just as surprised at her presence as she was at his. Though their mutual bewilderment was truly silly, they lived together after all. They were bound to run into each other at some point, no matter how hard she tried to work around his schedule. He shrugged off his jacket and Betty turned around, her cheeks flushing with the tidbits of memory assaulting her mind. 

 

“Hi.” Her voice was cheery as she flashed him that signature Cooper smile, the same one that she could muster up even under the most unfortunate circumstances. Not that being around him was unfortunate, it was quite the opposite. But the tension that hung thick in the air was a stark contrast to her currently sunny demeanor. 

 

Whatever had come over him only moments before appeared to melt away as he wandered into the kitchen, peeking in every pot she had out, clearly disappointed to see only one had water and the rest were empty. “Long time no see.”

 

She willed herself to move, to drag one foot in front of the other and turn on the oven. It needed to preheat for the pasta bake she was planning on making and if she didn’t get a head start, they wouldn’t even have dinner for at least another hour.

 

“I’ve been around,” she squeaked, moving past him toward the stove, turning it to exactly 375 degrees as the preheat light flashed. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past him once more as he eyed her playfully.

 

“Around?”

 

“Yeah, around. Classes have been intense and I’ve, uh- I’ve just been….” she paused, letting her eyes drift to the way his lip was twitching up on one side, a bemused smirk beginning to form. She lost her train of thought, imagining the way her tender lips might feel against his skin, the hint of stubble scraping the sensitive flesh for only a second.

 

He cleared his throat and her eyes shot up to his. Oh. That’s why. He was staring at her, staring at him. How utterly embarrassing. 

 

She spun back around and rifled through the cupboards, trying to remember what exactly she was looking for in the first place. Pecs, no - pasta. Her mind was jumbled with images that she couldn’t seem to shake, the lean tear of his abs burned into her brain as a curse slipped from her lips.

 

“You’ve just been what?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You said you’ve just been and then trailed off. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around here since the uh,” he paused, the twist of his lips now forming a full fledged smirk, “the incident in the bathroom.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” She cleared her throat again and gripped the box of pasta, pulling it down from the shelf before turning to the fridge and looking for something else. Butt - no, butter. Dammit, why did that keep happening? 

 

“Should we talk about it?”

 

She whipped around so quick that her ponytail swung all the way to her cheek, brushing the heated flesh as her eyes went wide. “No. We should not.”

 

His smirk only widened at her clear denial. “And why not?”

 

Betty rolled her eyes. He was fishing, he wanted her to shove her entire foot in her mouth and she wasn’t going to take the bait, not this time. “What is there to talk about? It’s not like it was a,” she paused, narrowing her eyes, “a  _ big  _ deal or anything.” Somewhere deep inside she mustered up the confidence to shoot him a wink before turning her attention back to the ingredients.

 

She heard him audibly balk at her statement, clearly catching the innuendo that she didn’t  _ really  _ mean. Anyone with eyes would know that it was, in fact, a  _ big _ deal. But nothing worked better for deflection than poking a man’s ego, especially about  _ certain  _ parts. She heard him scoff again, apparently at a loss for words and she giggled, bringing the ingredients toward the stove. She set them all out. Butter, pasta, sauce, and about a pound of cheese to top it all off. 

 

She reached down toward the knob on the stove, about to start the water boiling when she heard the distinct squeal of the sprayer on their faucet and felt icy water coat her back. She had the box of pasta in both hands and seized as the droplets of water dripped off her ponytail and ran down her back. 

 

Jughead was laughing, a deep chuckle that she hadn’t heard in longer than she could remember. Apparently the same antics of their childhood were still just as funny in grad school as they had been when they were in grade school. 

 

She was still standing in the same spot, debating on her next move when he did it again. His laughing only intensified. 

 

“Jughead! Just leave me alone,” she said in feigned protest, eyeing the pot of water that had yet to be turned on. In an instant, she made a snap decision and gripped the handles, lifting the heavy pot off the stove and spinning around. She shot him a challenging look as he mocked her, sprayer in hand and a ‘tempt me’ look on his face.

 

“Just leave  _ you  _ alone? Really? You’re wielding an-” 

 

Before he could even finish his sentence, she tipped the pot, cold water cascading over him and bouncing up off the floor. She sat the pot back on the stove and it was her turn to laugh, the same deep chuckle erupting from her chest as she took in her clear victory. While she may have been a little damp from the sprays, he was full on soaked and she could see straight through his white T-shirt as he pulled off the now drenched button up covering it. Betty blamed that T-shirt, the way the offending fabric clung to every inch of his chest, revealing his toned physique, for why she didn’t see what came next. 

 

He bent down slightly and rushed toward her, gripping the backs of her knees and throwing her off balance as he hoisted her onto his shoulder. 

 

“JUGGIE!” she screeched in between laughs. “STOP!”

 

The water on the floor didn’t do him any favors as he slipped around slightly, trying to regain his balance, holding Betty over his shoulder all the while. 

 

“Apologize!” 

 

In between laughs she swore, “Never!”

 

The hallway was short and with two simple turns, he had her in the bathroom. She was lightly slapping his back but his grip lever loosened as he rushed them both into the tub, his hands clenching her thighs just a bit tighter as he stepped over the side. She wiggled free, off his shoulder but not out of his grasp as her feet landed in the tub.

 

“Apologize,” he taunted again, pinning her against the side with one arm as the other reached up to grab the shower head. 

 

“Never,” she countered once more, breathier than she intended. 

 

The proximity was nearly too much. Memories of  the intimate moments shared between two life long friends flooded her mind. Shared baths after playing in mud puddles at eight, wiping him clean of the birthday cake Archie had shamelessly smashed his face in at thirteen, swiping a thumb over a spot of ketchup on the corner of his lip at sixteen, pressing her lips to the same corner at seventeen. Every time they had touched, every word left unspoken, every longing memory came rushing back to her as the cold tile pressed against her back, the chill no match for her thin white camisole. 

 

Her breaths were labored, the air so thick she could hardly swallow as her chest heaved. 

 

“Apologize.” His voice was low, gravely, and it did  _ something  _ to her in that instant, something more than the sight of the fabric stuck to his flesh, more than the feel of his skin pressed against hers. It was as if the timbre cut her straight to the bone, rattling her to the marrow as he spoke.

 

“No,” she breathed, dragging her eyes back up to his as the edges of her lips tugged the slightest bit toward a smile.

 

He was still holding the showerhead over her and leaning in, his forearm pressing the bare skin on her collarbone as he held her against the wall. She saw his tongue dart out and swipe across his lip, drawing her attention once more before she was hit with the shock of cold water for the third time that night. 

 

He had done that on purpose. 

 

She shrieked and squealed, reaching for the showerhead and trying to turn it on him. They wrestled playfully, the sprays coating not only them, but every inch of the bathroom in the water that had thankfully finally heated up. 

 

As they fumbled for dominance, she would momentarily gain the upper hander, her fingers wrapped around the showerhead, tilting it toward him, warm water coating his body. Then he would take over, doing the same to her, their bodies pressed together in the cramped space. 

 

She nearly slipped, her foot just barely out from under her when she felt his strong arm wrap around her waist and her hands grip his chest, steadying them both as he sunk into the tub that was filled with a few inches of standing water. The showerhead wound up in there too, drowning in the tub and all but forgotten as she realized how close they were, how intimate it all felt, how natural it all seemed to be. 

 

There had always been something endearing about his childish side. It was so different from the cold exterior he presented to the everyone else, everyone but her. Betty felt as if she was finally seeing him again, the same man who was once a teenager, unburdened by the past. He looked good. He looked better than good actually, he looked downright sinful under her fingertips, his chest heaving and the faintest lines of definition sitting just beneath her palms. 

 

She realized that she had been staring, again, and slowly raised her head, her nose grazing his cheek as she locked eyes with him. The rise and fall of his chest was entrancing just moments before and feeling those same labored breaths fan across her lips made time stand still. 

 

They were closer than they had ever been. She would only have to move an inch. A singular motion that would finally bring their lips together. His eyes left her gaze and she realized he was staring at her lips, much like the night on her porch years before, and she felt a surge of confidence in the exact same moment they both heard the distinct ding of the oven. 

 

Despite the sound, neither of them moved, their breaths finally evening out as their lips moved just slightly closer. All she would have to do is turn her head, lean forward the slightest bit, and she’d be kissing him, fulfilling a dream she had never been able to fully stifle.

 

“Are you going to get that?” he mumbled, his voice so low she wasn’t sure she even heard him. 

 

His eyes were still fixed on his lips when she whispered, “No.”

 

She looked back down again, the supple skin tempting her, teasing her. She had almost decided to lean in when he broke the silence once more. “Why are we whispering?” 

 

Betty trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and made a conscious effort to look upward, into his eyes. 

 

“I don’t know,” she answered in an equally low voice. Despite the question addressing their exact behavior, she couldn’t bring herself to raise her voice even a octave higher, the moment felt almost fragile, prone to break with the slightest catalyst. 

 

Another breath fanned across her lips, a deep sigh from him and in an instant, she decided she'd had enough. All the years of dancing around it, all the nights of avoidance, all the ‘what-if’s’, and wonders converged in that single second as she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his and wrapping her arms around his soaking wet shoulders. 

 

-

 

Jughead was shocked, dazed, enraptured all in one instant. Holding her close, feeling her skin skim across his had awoken every part of his body. He didn’t respond at first as she kissed him, swearing it had to be a dream, a mistake, something that just didn’t happen. But when she pulled back and her eyes went wide, he already knew he had to have her, to taste her, touch her, feel her squirm beneath his grip. Before she could apologize or second guess her actions, his lips were on hers again, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her onto his lap, the tips sinking into her soft skin, surely bruising. 

 

“Wait.” She pulled back again, settled on his lap with one leg thrown over each side as she cupped his face. She looked to be searching, surveying his features for the slightest bit of something, but whatever it was, she didn’t seem to find it. “Let’s go the bedroom,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him once more.

 

That was the only invitation he needed as he picked her up, pausing to stop the still running water before he was guiding them down the hallway. They were sure there were wet footprints left in their wake, but neither one could bring themselves to care. Not when her legs were wrapped around him and her face was buried in the crook of his neck. Her scent surrounded him, wrapping him up in ribbons of vanilla, streams of something sweet and the hint of something sultry, her very essence sinking into his skin and coursing through his veins. It felt like pure fire, like the blue flame at the base, searingly hot but beautifully alluring. She was all around him and all he wanted was to have just a taste. Her strawberry lip balm was sweet, but he knew it would be no match compared to the flavor of her flesh. He wanted to know. He had to know and as they entered the bedroom, he also had to know that she wanted it just as much as he did, that she craved him, too. 

 

Their skin was slippery as he set her down on the floor just inside of his room. All of the earlier playfulness fell away as he drug his eyes over every soaking wet inch of her body. He was really looking at her for the first time in a long time and he swore if her skin was flammable, it would have been ablaze, ignited purely by the heat in his eyes. 

 

He took a step forward, his palm landing on her hip, inching up the hem of her cotton camisole to expose a thin strip of skin just above the waistband of her fuzzy, and now soaked, pink pajama pants. His finger pushed up the edge of her shirt while his pinky settled beneath the waistband of her pants, asking silently if he could proceed. The only sounds in the room were their heavy pants and the soft cadence of water droplets falling to the floor. 

 

In a bold move, Betty reached forward and tugged his shirt over his head before doing the same to her own. She wanted it. She wanted him and his head was spinning with relief as she stood before him, clad in a pale pink bra, still soaking wet. He wanted to lick the droplet trailing down her neck as it descended down her chest. Did it taste like water? Did it taste like her? Did it taste like some tantalizing mixture of the two? 

 

“I don’t want to get your sheets wet.” Her voice was low but it snapped him from his reverie, telling him the only thing he needed to know in that moment. She wanted to lay in his bed, without the barriers they had always been separated by, and he couldn’t comply fast enough. Their wet clothes wound up on a pile somewhere on floor as he watched her inch backward toward his bed, gripping his hands to pull him along, never breaking their gaze. 

 

Ever since he moved in, she had been having dreams about his bed, writhing around in it under the weight of his body. She had woken up many nights, slipping her hand beneath the waistband of her panties and replaying the snippets in her mind, bringing herself to the brink in a way no one ever had before. But tonight, it was real, it wasn’t a dream, no matter how surreal it felt. The feeling of the smooth fabric under her fingertips reminded her just how real it all was. She laid back on his bed, twisting her legs as she sunk into the pillowtop mattress. She had never been on his bed before and it was even softer than she had imagined. 

 

The weight of his knees, pressing into the mattress and moving toward her snapped her back as she lifted her head to watch him settle over her, knees bracing her hips and chest lowered to hers. It was flesh on flesh, flame on flint, fuel on fire as the smooth planes of his chest glided over her damp skin. He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck and reached a hand up to sink his long fingers into her tresses, guiding her head back to expose the entire column of her neck as he ravished her, sucking, biting, and nipping at the flesh. Working the same area over and over again as she felt the skin bruise under his lips, eliciting soft moans and needy whines from her all the while. 

 

“Juggie,” she panted, already soaked from more than just the shower, “please. I need more.”

 

He trailed soft kisses upward, pausing to nip at her ear before growling against the shell, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

 

She giggled softly as his kisses trailed down once again. Her soft chuckle only subsided when he sucked a taut peak into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh as her hips pressed upward, searching for friction. 

 

“More,” she breathed.

 

He obliged, bringing a palm up to the breast he just left, trailing kisses to the other side, paying it equal attention as she writhed beneath him. 

 

“Eager, are we,” he teased against her skin, his eyes locked on hers as he sucked the nipple back in. Her head fell back on the pillow, lost in the utter ecstasy of what his tongue could do to her body, wondering what it may do to another part. Without even needing to ask, he worked his way down her stomach and pressed kisses along her hips as his hands nudged her legs. They fell apart on instinct, leaving her fully bare, exposed beneath him.

 

It was better than any image he could conjure up in a dream, her soft center dripping, just for him. He only looked up once more, holding her gaze as his tongue licked a thick stripe upward, landing on her clit and swirling around the pulsing nub. She tasted sinfully sweet, addicting, intoxicating, something he knew he would never forget. The soft moans dripping off her lips were etched into his mind, forever cataloged under his best memories. He was sure she would have been embarrassed if she wasn’t already so lost, adrift in a lust fueled haze. With twists and turns of his tongue, he brought her near the brink, her whines increasing as he inched her closer to release. He slipped two fingers inside of her, hooking up to caress a spot she would have never been able to reach on her own, and within seconds he felt her walls tighten around his fingers. He pulled them out, sealing his mouth over her, drinking her in as his still slick fingers rubbed at her clit.

 

She felt a wave a relief crash over her, a rush of euphoria unlike any before. Her legs were still shaking when his kisses began their ascent. Proper time was paid to her chest as she attempted to recover before he made his way back to her lips. Every inch of their bodies were perfectly aligned, the tip of his pulsing cock pressing against her soaked folds when he looked into her eyes. His arms were braced on either side of her head when she saw a questioning look grace his features. Without hesitation, she lifted her hands, cupping his face and bringing it down to hers as she tilted her hips upward. 

 

“P-p-protection,” he sputtered, keeping his hips in the exact place they had been, teasing her entrance without invading her folds. 

 

“I’m on the pill.”

 

And with those four words, she saw the blaze intensify behind his eyes as she tilted her hips just a little bit more and he slid in. 

 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “you feel so god damned good.”

 

Betty whined at the stretch, the unfamiliar feeling of the hyper sensitive flesh gliding against the pulsing veins of his length. She was surprised she didn’t climax right then and there as he was fully seated inside of her. Somehow, she managed to hold off and with each building thrust, in and then out, her whines picked up with the pace. 

 

Gasps and groans filled the room, the temperature climbing as their bodies moved against each other. With each push of his body, hers pulled him in, the rhythmic motions mounting, escalating toward a release that she was sure would have her whole body quaking.

 

Before she knew it, her skin was tingling, covered in gooseflesh as his pumps became more sporadic. Her hands were gripping his shoulders, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and she turned her head, pressing hot, sloppy kiss to his neck. She sucked on the skin just below his ear, nursing the flesh until she felt it bruise beneath her lips, just as hers had done not long before. His low growl rumbled against her chest, sending her teetering over the edge again just as she felt him spill inside of her. 

 

It all happened at once, the warmth filling her inside as his hot breath from the final pants fanned her skin. She was on fire, every centimeter of skin, inside and out, was aflame from his touch. 

 

His hips thrusted forward once more, dropping every last ounce of release deep within her as his forehead fell to her collar bone. He was hovering over her, his movements stilled as the events of the night seemed to catch up to him. Before he could question it and pull away, before he could give into the uneasy feeling threatening to burst his newfound bubble, she pressed her palms into his shoulders and eased him down onto her, their skin still covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

 

Neither moved for endless minutes, save for a simple swipe of his palm up and down her back and her fingers tracing small hearts on his chest. 

 

“Wow,” she whispered, her finger lazily coming up to the crest of the heart before dipping down again, sending shivers up his spine.

 

His grin grew wide, a sense of pride welling in his chest at the prospect that he made her say ‘wow’. They were in their mid twenties, it was only natural to assume they had both had experiences, but at least for him, she was unlike any other. The way their bodies read each other’s cues effortlessly, like recalling their old favorite novels, was the result of something more than pent up affections. It was more than simply lust - it was love. It was a deep, enduring love, the kind that settled into his bones in the simplest moments, imprinted memories on his heart that he could never truly shake, even if he tried. It was the kind of love he would carry with him for the rest of his life. He had been in love with her since time began and the weight of her body tucked under his arm felt far more comforting than anything he had ever known. 

 

She was his beginning, she was his end, she was his everything. He had never known something so simple could change so quick, but with the barriers broken and their walls of defense pummeled to the ground, he hoped not a single thing else would ever change. That was the first of many nights to come, nights spent buried under the covers, slowly learning every dip and curve of each other’s bodies. Nights always commencing with them cuddled together, pressed so close that they nearly felt as one. 

 

When he woke the next morning, her soft body wrapped around him, he couldn’t help but smile. She was still sleeping softly, the rise and fall of her chest gently reminding him that it was real, that she was there, with him. Waking up next to her was something he would never tire of. No matter what happened, he knew his fate was sealed. She was it. Forever. For Always. It had always been her. It would always be her. 

  
  


*

 

End.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Sooo.... what'd you think?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it as a one shot. I know it was long but I thought it was fitting to all be one chapter. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @bugggghead.
> 
> Thanks so much for taking the time to read <3


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